


Ceilidhs and Cranachan

by FaerieChild



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: #Dancing, #bond in a kilt, #whisky, M/M, drunk!q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9583586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaerieChild/pseuds/FaerieChild
Summary: A visit to the newly rebuilt Skyfall Lodge culminates in a Ceilidh in the local village hall. Q experiences Scottish culture.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ayrtonwilbury and I once had a long discussion about Scottish headcanons. This is part of that universe. This fic is set in Lochaber where the fictional Skyfall estate sits. Q and Bond (and Bill and Eve) attend a local ceilidh.

Bill Tanner was not wearing a kilt, he argued, because most of the locals weren’t either. He had a point there, Q supposed. Q hadn’t even owned any tartan until Bond made him buy troos from his tailor in Edinburgh on the way up here. Q thought he looked ridiculous, but James had insisted. He didn’t know any of the dances either. James would probably insist about that as well. As it was he’d spent most of the week on the sharp end of the locals practical jokes and was now feeling rather wary.

Eve skipped up to him – actually skipping – in a long yellow tartan skirt that suited her brown skin tone remarkably well. Really she had no right to look as stunning as she did in plaid.  
“Quartermaster.”

“Eve.”

“May I have this dance?”

“Absolutely not,” Q exclaimed. “I think I’ve undergone quite enough ritual humiliation this week on Bond’s behalf. Three times I rowed halfway to bloody Ireland trying to get a phone signal and bloody Ewan has a bloody satellite phone behind the bloody bar!” Q crossed his arms sternly. “And I am absolutely not dancing.”

Bill Tanner was trying very hard not to laugh.

Eve smiled her widest smile and reached out to grab Q’s crossed arm and dragged him out onto the dance floor anyway. “Great! This one’s really easy.”

At the top of the village hall the ceilidh band had just finished setting up and announced that everyone present should grab their partner. While Q was dragged towards the latest round of ritual humiliation Bond was mysteriously absent until Q heard the distinctive tap-tap-tap of his heel cleats and spotted him helping out at the food table at the back. Or helping himself more likely. As more people piled into the hall each group brought a bowl of food that was laid on the table for later. As Eve manhandled him into position Q’s view of Bond was lost. Eve grabbed his hand and dragged it over her shoulder. “I haven’t had enough booze for this.”

“Plenty of time for that.”

“I didn’t know there was food.”

“That’s just the half time stovies, Darling. Do concentrate. Do you know how to polka?”

“Are we dancing a polka? Why is my hand on your shoulder?”

“No sweetie, they always start with-”

“Here we go!” The band announced. “The Gay Gordons.”

“Who is Gordon?” Q wondered. He had no more time to think about it as he spent the next eight minutes being pulled around by Eve. Forwards, backwards, spinning… by the end of it Q felt lucky his head was still attached to his shoulders. He escaped to the bar as soon as he was humanly able and parked himself up with a glass of unpronouncable whisky. Bond had tried to teach him this one but it just sounded like a gob of phlegm stuck in the throat and Q refused to acknowledge anywhere that sounded like a bad case of emphysema as an actual place name.

Tanner was Eve’s next victim and then Ewan’s wife Moira grabbed him into something involving lots of ridiculous amounts of spinning. Q still had no idea what he was doing and seemed to spend most of the time being manhandled by various partners until Bond caught him at the end of that dance and pressed a glass of water into his hand.

“Having fun?” Bond smirked.

“I hate you.”

“I hate you too, Mo Chuisle. Come on, I haven’t danced with you yet.”

“Aren’t couples supposed to be male and female?” Q queried but at Bond’s raised eyebrow he looked around and noted to his surprise that many of the couples were friends, brothers and other assorted same-sex pairings.

“Usually someone who won’t break your ankle trumps gender at these things. Once upon a time it was like that but nobody cares now. I was impressed with your Strip the Willow.”

“Why does that sound like a euphemism?” Q muttered, causing Bond some amusement. “I need more whisky I’m not nearly drunk enough for this.”

“It’s the Dashing White Sergeant, Q. Everyone loves the Dashing White Sergeant!”

“Dashing-in-dress-whites Commander, maybe,” Q grumbled. Eve, predictably could not put a foot wrong and he detested her for it. Tanner seemed to be putting in a session propping up the bar and talking Eurofighter Typhoons. Q was eyeing the food table at the back enviously. He hadn’t had dinner yet and all this exercise was making him hungry.

About an hour into proceedings the band needed a break and suddenly steaming bowls of hot food emerged from the kitchen. Bond pushed Q ahead of him as they were presented with plates of steaming mashed potato mixed with a dubious concoction of ingredients.

“Bond, it looks like dog food.”

Bond grinned and made a grab for it, making no effort to kiss the pout off Q’s face. Q whipped his plate away quickly, protecting his food and then scrutinised it once more. Tentatively he nibbled a bite and tasted pork and sage sausage meat, potatoes, gravy, onions and butter with a strong kick of black pepper. The next bite had all the same potatoes and flavours except the meat tasted like corned beef.

“What sort of meat is this exactly?” Q questioned. “Every mouthful tastes different.”

Bond shrugged. “Whatever’s around. It’s a bit of a carnivore’s pot luck to be honest but it all tastes good with mashed potatoes and gravy.”

Q decided it probably wouldn’t be wise to inspect the meat in his food too much further and gobbled it up. Whatever was in it was hearty and tasted quite good and after, when all the plates were snet back to the kitchen an array of ingredients appeared on the table where the stovies had once been. He peered over with curiosity.

“Raspberries? I like raspberries,” Q felt the need to point out. He wobbled slightly on his feet. Bond had presented him with a glass of whisky to sip over dinner and he was beginning to forget how many he’d had.

“Not just raspberries, Q. Cranachan!”

“Bless you. One’s a wish, you know. One’s a wish, two’s a kiss. Can I have a kiss?”

“Mo chuisle, you’re rambling. Come on,” Bond slid his hand into Q’s and pulled him in the direction of the table. “Lets get pudding.”

Ten minutes later Q’s eyes were closed in pure heavenly bliss. Whoever designed this wonder of wonders was a God and should be exalted on high. “I think I’m going to cum.”

“Don’t be daft, Laddie.”

Q opened his eyes. Kincade was in front of him, eating his own pudding. The Ghillie had layered his with more of the whisky-soaked roasted oatmeal and extra honey. Q had dribbled the dregs of his mealtime whisky on top of his and gone back for extra raspberries. Q had the distinct feeling the Ghillie was laughing at him but he was too orgasmic right now to care. Even Bond in his Glencoe Macdonald kilt – his grandmother’s tartan, apparently – didn’t look half as good as the layered cream, honey, whisky, raspberries and toasted oatmeal. By the time he’d stuffed himself fit to burst Q couldn’t even think of moving much less dancing and sat a few out while Bond worked his way round the local ladies. The band announced dances with names like Eightsome Reel and Saint Bernard’s Waltz which was stupid because dogs would be useless at waltzing.

Q was hiccupping and lecturing an unfortunate local on Quantum Computing when Bond sought him out. Eve and Bill Tanner had paired up again and Q was alarmed to note the length of the line of dancing pairs. People were stood in two rows the full length of the hall and Q felt a nervous fluttering in his belly as Bond squeezed his hand.

“What are we doing now?” Q asked.

“Orcadian Strip the Willow.”

“The masturbating one? We did that already. I think I’m drunk.”

“For the last time the name is not a euphemism for getting your rocks off. And this one’s different.”

“Different how?” Q prodded.

Bond only smirked and looked at Q in that particular fond, exasperating way of his. “You’ll see.”

~

All Q remembered was spinning.

Spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning and spinning.

It was daylight and his eyes hurt and he was still spinning, or at least the room was.

“I think I’m drunk…” Q mumbled. Beside him a warm laugh rumbled and he made a second attempt to open his eyes to find Bond lying naked beside him, his head propped up on one arm. They were in Bond’s room in Skyfall, the rebuilt lodge they were here to visit.

“How much did you put away last night?” Bond laughed.

“Don’t remember.”

“Well you seemed to have fun at any rate.”

Q groaned loudly. “What just happened?”

“The locals call it a ceilidh.”

“I think I drank whisky and there was something to do with raspberries.”

“Cranachan,” Bond smiled.

“Ceilidhs and cranachan,” Q groaned. “Never again.”

**Author's Note:**

> Things that might need explaining:  
> Ceilidh - a traditional gathering with Scottish country dancing and traditional music. Some gatherings will also have storytelling and songs.  
> Troos - Traditional tartan trousers  
> Stovies - a popular Scottish dish of potatoes and leftover meat, people often mix in gravy, onions and herbs and spices for flavour.  
> Cranachan - a traditional dessert made from layers of whipped cream, roasted oatmeal soaked in whisky, honey and raspberries. Some people also put a dash of whisky over the top. Restaurants often layer it up for you but the original way to do it is to lay out the ingredients and everyone makes up their own to taste.  
> Mo Chuisle - literally ‘my pulse’ a shortened version of a chuisle mo chroi which is a Gaelic term of endearment meaning ‘pulse of my heart’. (The ‘h’ makes it vocative, if you’re interested)


End file.
